I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
by Shealily
Summary: Sherlock and Watson run into someone at Regent's Park... literally.  A brief encounter sparks curiosity in an American who stumbles upon the dynamic duo.  What started off as annoyance slowly turns into a budding mystery.  Watson/OC... eventually... maybe


_How the fuck did I end up in the rose garden? Running through Regent's Park was such as stupid idea._ Erin slowed from her running pace to a jerky stop. Her panting breath fogged in the air of the cool London morning. She walked to the side of pebbled path, grabbed the back of a bench and started to stretch out her quads as she tried to figure out just how lost she really was. The jogger, with headphones in and iPod turned up, was oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the rose bushes.

"Hurry up, Watson! We can't let him run off!" Sherlock Holmes exclaimed, limbs flying and greatcoat flapping as he dashed after the suspect. "We need to head him off before he reaches the boating lake!" John Watson struggled to keep up with his companion, but he was used to always trailing a few steps behind; all the military fitness training in the world couldn't prepare him for unpredictable path of Sherlock's mind. Plus, the detective's legs were longer.

Sherlock dashed off the pebbled path, cutting across the manicured lawns of the park and startling a flock of pigeons into flight. "Blasted birds!" was his response. He finally burst through a small patch of trees and rounded a hedge, only to collide with the stationary jogger on the path.

Erin had no time to react before the lanky detective knocked her off her feet. With an exasperated yell he picked himself up and ran off.

"What the hell, man!"

"Sherlock, you can't do that!" John Watson trotted up to the girl and kneeled beside her. "Are you ok? My friend can be daft sometime- never knows when to apologize."

"I've heard that the British can be pretty rude…" John was surprised at the girl's accent. The jogger was dressed in a long-sleeved LSE t-shirt, along with black leggings and running shoes, so she was obviously a student- but he wouldn't have taken her for American.

"No, no… it's just him. Here, let me help you up." Erin looked up at the sandy-haired man, who was smiling despite her evident annoyance. She brushed the gravel off her hands and accepted his outstretched arm. John pulled the girl to her feet, groaning slightly at the tension in his injured shoulder.

"Have you seen my iPod?" Erin asked. "It must have flown off somewhere when your _friend_ tackled me." John noticed purple headphones dangling from one of the girl's ears. "Shouldn't be too far away, I suspect. Sherlock's too skinny to have _that _much force when he collides with something."

The girl let off a ringing laugh. As the immediate pain started to fade, she could see the humor in the situation. John hid a smile of his own as he poked through the rose bushes.

"Ah hah! It's in the bed of Princess Marie Dagmar!" Erin turned sharply to look at the man bending over a rose bush. "I wasn't aware that a flower could hold so much innuendo," she replied with good-natured sarcasm.

John blushed as he fished the music player out, both from his words and embarrassment for what his friend had done. "Well, the good news is I found your iPod, which is quite a feat considering there's over 60,000 roses in this patch of the Inner Circle. In fact, Sherlock would be proud, I'm sure…" He trailed off into silence, not wanting to reveal the crushed piece of electronics John held in his hand.

Erin was not amused. Hands on hips, she asked the doctor. "What's the bad news?"

At that moment, the perpetrator himself returned to the scene of the crime. Annoyance pounded in each step and pulled his sharp features into a decidedly strong pout. "YOU!" he called when he saw the jogger. "You bloody Americans are always getting in the way! Always blocking the sidewalks to gawk at something or other, asking where Madam Toussaud's is…" Sherlock strode up to the girl and grasped her shoulders. Erin had no idea what was going on and was quite surprised by the tempestuous man. "Because of you, our murderer reached the boating pond and had time to dispose of his gun! Evidence destroyed!"

"Settle down, Sherlock," Watson beseeched his friend. He pushed the detective away gently and shook his head when the other man started pacing. "Lestrade and the forensics team will fish it out eventually. Plus, I'm sure you could push Anderson off the bank and make it look like an accident." Sherlock snorted at this, obviously pleased with the idea. "How did you know she was American, anyway? You barely had time to knock her over before you were up and running again." John glanced at the jogger and was amused by her evident confusion at the unfolding scene.

"Elementary. Her shirt is new, but she's too old to be a fresher. A second or third year would rather spend money on alcohol than purchase an article of clothing they most likely own already. That says that she's new to the school, but not as an undergraduate. Her trainers are made by New Balance; while they are available in the UK, they're much more popular in North America- specifically the US. Finally, she did have time to shout an expletive at me as I ran to intercept our killer. Definitely an American accent, then, with influences from the Northeast." At that, Sherlock stopped pacing to look at Erin. "Originally from a suburb of Boston, are you not? Too refined to be from the North shore or South shore, and definitely not from the more northern states."

"Who _are _you?" she asked, finally losing her patience with the lanky detective and his sidekick.

"Never mind that. If you'll excuse me, I need to conclude my work. Come along, John." With that, the man spun around and headed back in the direction he arrived in. John looked at his retreating friend and shrugged in a 'what can you do?' manner. With a nod and a smile to the flustered jogger, he set off after Sherlock.

It took Erin a moment to realize that John was walking off with her iPod, which sill remained hidden within his hand. "HEY! Don't walk off with that!" John stopped and turned at her sharp call, obviously forgetting about the evidence claimed Sherlock's moment of destruction that he still clutched in his palm. Erin trotted up to the man, finally determined to get what was hers and get the hell out of the park.

"OH, yeah, right. Um, here you go…" John hesitantly offered the shattered iPod, cheeks slightly red. It took Erin a moment to soak up the carnage.

"He wrecked… _destroyed… _IS HE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS? I CAN'T AFFORD TO BUY A NEW IPOD IN POUNDS!" Erin cried with barely-controlled hysteria as she clutched her deceased mp3 player. John would have laughed, had he not been on the receiving end of the young woman's growing fury.

"Well… I mean… I guess…" he flustered out.

"You _guess? _Not good enough!"

"You know what? Here." Watson reached into his wallet and pulled out a card. "My name is John Watson. Come to this address next week and we'll get you sorted. I _promise." _Satisfied that the jogger was not going to chuck the iPod at him, he gave her a small smile by way of apology and started to head in the direction that Sherlock wandered off.

Erin looked at the business card in her hand.

SHERLOCK HOLMES, CONSULTING DETECTIVE

JOHN WATSON, MEDICAL DOCTOR AND ASSISTANT

221B BAKER STREET, LONDON

_What the hell is a consulting detective? They've never had one of those on CSI… _Erin tucked the card into her pocket and turned to start off on her run again, before remembering why she stopped in the first place. She quickly ran after the retreating doctor and tapped him on the shoulder. Watson turned around with surprise.

"Um, John, right?" Watson nodded, a question in his look. "How do I get out of here?" A smile tugged at the staid doctor's lips.

"Sherlock was right- you are new to London." Erin fidgeted under his bemused glance. "Not really," she replied. "Just the park… it's too fucking big!"

John let out a real tip-your-head-back-with-mirth kind of laugh. Erin blushed at his response, but thanked him anyway as he pointed in the direction of the exit. She took off again, running at a slower pace than when she set out, fully conscious of the bruises forming from her collision with Sherlock.

As John walked on, he shook his head and marveled at the madness that was his life.


End file.
